


Survival of the Fittest

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Series: Dumb Dads AU [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dumb Dads AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Ardyn is out of the city when he gets word their political enemies intend to throw a coup d'etat in Gralae. Verstael has one job; get the children and go into lock down until Ardyn can make it back.
Relationships: Verstael Besithia/Ardyn Izunia
Series: Dumb Dads AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577530
Comments: 23
Kudos: 88





	Survival of the Fittest

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an AU I like playing with. You might see more of it. Basically Ardyn and Verstael are raising Prompto and Noctis. One big family of weirdos. No huge surprise how they got Prompto but they totally kidnapped Noctis, I assure you; it was very illegal.

Its another normal day in Gralea.

Verstael’s in one of his glittering laboratories when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He’s in between tests so he picks it up but if the call had come in twenty minutes earlier or twenty minutes later Verstael would’ve ignored it.

“Hello stranger,” he greets, recognizing Ardyn’s private cell.

“Stay casual,” Ardyn instructs curtly, “go into your office. Now.”

Verstael laughs, playing along, stomach falling through his feet. He rattles off some usual nonsense, teases, and pushes between lab assistants into his private office under the guise of a rowdier conversation with a man many people already know he’s involved with.

He locks the door.

“What’s going on?” He demands, tone flipping like a switch.

“Hasten, the Minister,” Ardyn explains, “I’ve got very good intel our old friend is about to throw a coup.”

Verstael’s mind picks up twelve gears. Julius Hasten has hated them for years. He is one of the last voices old enough and rich enough to raise resistance to Ardyn’s chancellorship and then his subsequent decrees. The Emperor can’t exile him without some sign of treason which means Verstael and Ardyn have their hands tied but if Hasten is coming with pitchforks there’s no reason to suspect he won’t bring them straight down to Verstael’s laboratory.

“When?” Verstael murmurs.

“I don’t know. Today.” Ardyn answers. “Get the boys. Lock down.”

“Where are you?” Verstael asks, hand rifling in his desk drawer for one of the many handguns he keeps hidden around his common haunts.

“I’m fifty-six minutes away.” Ardyn assures, voice decidedly tense.

“Fifty-six?” Verstael confirms.

“And counting.” Ardyn promises. “I’ll find you. Get the boys. Lock down.”

“Right,” Verstael stows the handgun on his hip under his lab coat.

“I don’t know how many eyes they have in the palace.” Ardyn warns. “Be smart.”

“See you soon,” Verstael swallows, preparing himself for the storm.

“I’m coming,” he promises again.

Of course they’d pick today. Ardyn’s been off site at a relic reclamation a few hours out of the city. Verstael ends the call, swears quietly under his breath, and takes a deep breath.

He can’t show he knows what’s going on.

If he gives away that he knows that’s more likely to kick the rebels into a pre-emptive strike. They could lash out early. He’s better letting them think its all under control a little longer. Still…

Noctis and Prompto are five years old. They’re halfway across the palace with their nanny and a selection of MTs. Verstael needs to get to them and get to them _now_.

Fuck, it’s going to be a long walk.

Verstael slips out of his office, casual saunter maxed out, and taps his head assistant on the shoulder with a dismissive; “I need a coffee. Back in twenty.”

“Sure Boss,” the assistant nods, unphased.

Verstael walks straight past the kitchenette, unquestioned, and right out of the laboratory. When he’s in the palace proper he takes a diversion down a corridor and slips into a staff passage. Niff palaces have all sorts of private corridors so servants can hurry around unseen by the nobility milling around the palace.

Once he’s in one such quiet corridor he breaks out into a sprint.

Verstael skitters up stairwells and rushes down passages. He’s desperate not to get turned around but his heart is pounding. He and Ardyn are meticulous men but even they can’t plan for everything. They have enemies, people who will stop at nothing to destroy them, and Verstael is prepared for that. He doesn’t have much that he’s not ready to replace at a moment’s notice. He tries not to be sentimental.

But he can’t replace Prompto and Noctis.

He slips back into an open passage near Ardyn’s vast Chancellor’s suite where the boys will be sequestered. He forces his breathing to steady and slows his pace as much as he can bare. He needs to look casual. He needs to seem unbothered.

One guard glances, nods, seems surprised to see him at this hour but doesn’t make a fuss.

Verstael brushes past the MTs into the suite.

Prompto and Noctis glance up from the floor where they’re playing. They don’t move immediately. They’re confused.

“Lord Besithia?” The nanny sits up in her chair, startled.

Verstael helps her up and pulls her close.

“Go lock yourself in the bathroom.” He whispers.

“S-Sir…?” She fumbles.

“Trust me.” Verstael hisses.

With wide, frightened, eyes the nanny skitters past the boys deeper into the suite.

Verstael regards the MTs in the room. He wants to bring them, or at least a rifle, but that would draw attention and he needs to move quickly.

Fuck, where are they going to hide?

“Vers?” Noctis murmurs, head tilting.

“Come on boys,” Verstael reaches for them, “we’ve got to go.”

“Go? Go where?” Prompto fusses, always the more anxious of the two boys.

Verstael glances between them, to the door, unsure what to even say. He needs them to stay calm but they need to know this is urgent. He glances imploringly at Noctis.

Noctis blinks steadily at him. Noctis has a thousand years of instincts and pinches his face into a tight little pout.

“Come on Prom,” he urges, “gotta go now.”

Verstael is sure Prompto only holds himself back from asking further questions because of Noctis. Verstael thanks the gods that abandoned Ardyn two thousand years ago and snatches both their hands. He tugs them further into the suite. Hidden in a walk-in wardrobe the chancellor’s quarters have a secure elevator. It’ll have to do.

Prompto squeezes his hand as they slip into the low industrial lighting of the emergency elevator.

“Where’s Uncle Arydn?” Noctis asks pointedly.

“Forty-two minutes away.” Verstael murmurs.

Noctis sets his eyes ahead and clutches Verstael’s hand very tight.

The elevator comes out in the hangars under the palace where they store military equipment. Verstael urges the children round a mech towards another corridor.

“Besithia?”

Verstael’s heart lurches as Caligo Ulldor calls his name, confused.

Prompto hesitates.

Verstael tugs him.

“Just keep walking,” he urges the boys, “just keep walking.”

“ _Besithia?_ ” Ulldor calls again, further back, trying to get his attention.

Verstael drags the children past the nearest automatic door and breaks into a jog. The boys struggle to keep up but he compels them to follow and when Prompto stumbles Verstael pauses only long enough to heft him up into his arms and keep going.

Verstael finds a secure items hold, swipes his key card to get in, and once they’re in scrambles the keypad beyond recognition. He glances back, regarding the eight by eight meter space. It’s no panic room but it’ll have to do.

“Go sit,” he urges the boys, putting Prompto down.

“What’s happening?” Prompto warbles.

“ _Go sit_ ,” Verstael repeats sternly.

Noctis snatches up Prompto’s hand and tugs the little blonde baby off towards a corner. The door is locked. It’d take a technician at least half an hour to re-program it if anyone found them but Verstael can’t tell how bad the fighting might get or how long they’re going to be down here so he starts barricading the door immediately.

He checks his phone once; twenty-three minutes.

He checks his phone twice; only one bar of cell reception.

Verstael stands back, regarding his work, and swallows.

It’s as good as he can do on short notice.

He checks the handgun on his hip.

He’s got ten rounds.

Swearing softly he glances back.

Prompto and Noctis are in a huddle in the corner.

Verstael goes to join them.

* * *

When Ardyn makes it into the city center his cellphone is buzzing like crazy in his pocket. They haven’t locked down the palace grounds yet but as he drives closer he can hear gunfire coming from inside.

Ardyn doesn’t bother finding a parking spot, much too late for that. He pulls up right at the front entrance, tucks his cellphone in his pocket and yanks a handheld imperial radio he keeps for emergencies out of his glovebox.

The guards at the front door are distracted, they’re starting to get alerts on their radios, and they’re just trying to figure out what’s going on when Ardyn steps up to the doors. They gape at him, recognize him, but aren’t sure what’s going on and aren’t high ranking enough to pull any weight on their own.

“Chancellor?” One genius fumbles.

“Best get inside lads,” Ardyn cocks his chin. “Start shooting.”

“At who?” Another guard gapes.

“Anyone who tries to shoot back.” Ardyn instructs, pushing past them.

He’s in no mood to fuck around.

He has wanted to kill Julius Hasten for almost eight years. Today’s going to be good. That said Ardyn doesn’t like to shit where he sleeps so he doesn’t appreciate violence being brought down in what is essentially his home. It’s unseemly. His boys are here, Verstael is here, and if anything has happened to any of them he’s going to rip Julius’ jugular out and feed it up his anus.

Ardyn answers his cell this time.

“Izunia,” the Emperor barks, “we need you back immediately traitors are—”

“On it,” Ardyn assures the old man curtly. “If you’ll instruct command to switch to frequency 675 I’ll take it from here Iedolas.”

The Emperor laughs, and Ardyn thinks he hears relief and disbelief in the same breath.

Radio on, frequency tapped in, Ardyn makes one more call on his cell;

“Problem Izunia?” Hasten greets, sounding like a shit eating bastard. Smug.

“I do believe, Julius, that we have a meeting today.” Ardyn declares, cheery as anything. “I hope you didn’t start the debate without me?”

“Apologies, apologies, I got too excited,” the Minister sighs mockingly. “If you hurry you might be able to make it to the laboratories before I blow them to smithereens. Is Besithia working today?”

“I am going to enjoy digging my fingers into your gullet,” Ardyn promises.

“Good luck with that,” Hasten snorts, hanging up.

Ardyn can play politics. He can scheme. But when the swords come out its all hands on deck, claws out, and he won’t apologize for that. Ripping up his radio he starts barking commands into the receiver. Julius seems to have quite a few uniformed backers but Ardyn’s not concerned.

He summons Rakshasa and heads down past the ball room just in time to hear them let off explosives in the research wing.

Verstael’s going to be so pissed about having to remodel.

* * *

Verstael doesn’t hear anything at first but within ten minutes there’s frantic running in the hallway beyond the steel doors. Then there’s gunfire, the sound of bullets splattering off MT armor, shouting…

He has both boys in his lap, bundled up, and they sit there trembling against him for what seems like forever.

One hour, two…

Verstael hears shouting again in the hallway but no one’s tried the keypad yet.

Things must be heating up outside. He feels so stupidly helpless here. He wants to be out there. He wants to be killing something. But there’s not another human being in this whole wretched building he’d trust with the boys and he can’t risk leaving them.

He just wishes he knew what was going on.

Eventually someone tries the keypad.

There’s the buzz of the AI rejecting the input code and outside the door voices start to intensify.

Prompto whines softly, scared.

Noctis watches, like Verstael, waiting.

There’s gunfire outside and another buzz from the AI. Apparently they think shooting the door will get it to open. Idiots.

Verstael wouldn’t be worried but after another twenty minutes there’s the distinct sound of a Mech unit hobbling down the corridor towards them. It’s probably an industrial unit, made for heavy lifting in tight spaces, it won’t have explosives equipped but…

Prompto yelps when the metal fist pounds on the other side of the door.

Shit.

Verstael drags the boys up.

He knows that door isn’t going to hold.

He glances, urgently needing a plan B.

He’s got the handgun but…

His aim is good but it’s not _that_ good.

He eyes the vent.

It’ll have to do.

“Noct,” he urges the boys up, “I need your help.”

Verstael drags a table under the vent and hauls all three of them up onto it. Hefting Noctis in his arms he lifts the boy to the vent. 

"I need you to open it," he instructs, Prompto clinging to his leg. The three of them flinch as one with the next boom of the door.

Noctis doesn't even hesitate. He plants two hands on the grate and floods the steel with a burst of elemental magic. The ice he produces is so cold, the contraction so sudden, that the grate pops off the wall into his hands with a little tug. 

Verstael cheers; "Brilliant baby!"

Pushing Verstael helps Noctis crawl up into the vent and then does the same with Prompto. The door is groaning, moaning, about to give as Verstael hauls himself up into the vent after them. He's a slender, short, man so it’s not a great strain which he's grateful for.

Verstael directs the boys to crawl. He's trying to remember the layout of the level and map it to the ventilation system but he's no-- Okay, he is a genius but sometimes even he needs to load.

Prompto and Noctis crawl ahead of him, fumbling through, and Verstael wishes, prays, for some good luck. 

Eventually they come to another grate. Whispering low, breathless, Verstael instructs Noctis to try and get a look into the room below. 

"It--" Noctis strains a little. "It looks like a box room? It's dark Vers."

Probably another storage room.

"Pop the grate," Verstael instructs. They can't hide in the vents forever lord knows how much smoke is going to come up through the system. He'd rather they weren't in such tight confines. 

Noctis presses his little hands to the steel and floods the metal with ice again. There's a clanking, crashing, sound as the grate pops off the wall and clatters down to the floor below but there's no gunfire to follow the sound so Verstael hopes they're alone. 

Noctis and Prompto struggle to get out but the boxes they land on don't seem to hold anything lethal. Verstael follows, finding his feet, and hauls them both up. 

"Are we gonna hide?" Prompto wonders.

"We need to keep going," Verstael warns him, "it's not safe here. We need somewhere better."

"But I don't-- I'm scared!" Prompto whimpers. 

"I know," Verstael promises, running a hand through Prompto's hair. "But we've got to move. Just hold on a little longer."

A boy in each hand Verstael has to try and sneak them into the halls. It seems quiet outside but the halls are long and the corners sharp. He’s not quite sure where they are but he’ll have a better idea when they’re out in the corridors. Taking a deep breath he opens the automatic door and peaks down the hall.

Coast clear he tugs the boys out. Noctis and Prompto evidently like being out in the open even less than Verstael because they’re moving quicker than he’s ever seen them do anything in their tiny little lives.

They’re at the end of the hall when—

Armed men round the corner into the opposing far end of the hallway they’re just leaving.

There’s a split second of surprised silence Verstael uses to his advantage, pushing the boys round the bend, before the men start firing off bullets.

Then they’re running.

Verstael can’t afford to be terribly strategic. He’s trying to weave them back towards the wider hangar so they can get out but he keeps yanking the boys down turns to limit the amount of time they’re targets for the pursuing bullets.

Verstael knows they’re close, he can hear the big fans in the main hangar, but he ends up down a dead end corridor all the same.

Swearing Verstael swipes his keycard and lets them into one of the tiny rooms.

The boys dive down behind a divider and skidding after them Verstael pulls the handgun out of his hip pocket.

He waits, crouched, hearing the men skitter closer.

There’s a pause as they fumble with their own key card to enter the room, fucking traitors.

The pause gives Verstael enough room to take aim and the first man who steps through the door gets a bullet through the skull. His body falls back instantly, jamming in the automatic door, and his two companions start cussing wildly.

Nine bullets.

Verstael ducks back down behind the divider while the remaining men fire blindly into the room.

Prompto whines and Noctis scrunches his eyes shut, clutching the blonde, but neither of them are bleeding. Verstael focuses.

He waits, just long enough. It’s instinct after flooding a room with bullets to spy in to check if you hit your target. So Verstael waits, just second, and pops up in time to splatter the brains of the next man to peek into the room.

Eight bullets.

There’s another lurid procession of cuss words from the remaining imperial traitor who is starting to get the message that, while Verstael is hampered by two small children, he is a damn good shot.

Verstael waits. His aggressor has two choices; storm the room, guns blazing, or run away for back up.

They sit there, waiting, for what feels like the longest thirty seconds of Verstael’s life.

The boys are petrified.

Then—

The remaining traitor storms the room, firing like crazy with his rifle.

Verstael pops up.

Misses.

Seven bullets.

“Fuck,” Verstael hisses under the gun fire and pops up again.

Head shot.

Six bullets.

The remaining traitor drops back on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Verstael takes a deep breath but there’s no time to pause and rest on his laurels. They need to move.

“Come on,” he tucks the gun away, gathering the boys up.

They’re too shaken to argue but Prompto takes as wide a step as his little legs will allow over the blood splatter.

* * *

Ardyn wipes Rakshasa along one of Julius Hasten’s perfect cream sofas smearing the Ministers blood everywhere. As satisfying as that was or rather as satisfying as that violence will be in hindsight he has bigger priorities.

The traitors are falling into chaos. Ardyn’s just dislocated their commander’s head from its meaty socket. They have limited options now; surrender and be executed for treason, try and reorganize around a charismatic survivor, or try and escape the palace grounds. Most of those options involve gunfire.

Ardyn fishes up his radio; “Keelvir, any sign of Besithia?” He demands.

“We can’t find him.” Keelvir answers. “We retook the Chancellor’s quarters and the upper deck but they’re not there. Just some panicked fucking maid cowering in your bathroom.”

Gretchen, the nanny.

So Verstael got the boys.

If Verstael hasn’t connected with a loyal faction yet he’s trapped somewhere.

“Where’s the fighting worst?” Ardyn tries to get clarification from his captains.

“We’ve got a shit show downstairs, in the basement,” Ulldor assures. “Fuckers got in early and tried to secure the military equipment. It’s a maze down here. We’ve been fighting them off for almost four hours.”

Ardyn tries to think. He retraces Verstael’s steps in his head; laboratory, to the Chancellor’s quarters, and then… would he take the emergency elevator? Fuck, that’d put him down in the basement.

 _Fuck_.

“Ulldor I’m coming your way.” Ardyn decides.

“Hurry up then!” The Brigadier General wheezes.

Ardyn stows his radio. Most people in the upper ranks suspect he’s not traditionally human in some capacity or another. They know something is different about him. Ulldor, the Emperor, they’ve seen him turn to magic and Scourge when things get bad. Either they chock it up to Verstael’s ‘ _experimental weaponry_ ’ in the report or simply ‘ _forget_ ’ to write said report in the first place. So no attempt at secrecy is going to save the fuckers in the basement.

Unfortunately someone evidently warned Hasten’s forces that Ardyn plays dirty because when he arrives in the basement and starts charging them with royal arms and blasts they scatter into the maze like passages like rats. They’re trying to regroup, drag the fighting into tighter corridors, it’s the only reason they’ve held this part of the palace for so long.

Ardyn organizes the troops with Ulldor and they start tightening the net with a ruthlessly systematic sweep of the basement after Ardyn secures the elevator controls and shuts them down. Whoever is in the basement is stuck now and with the elevator controls established as his acting base he sweeps out from there.

Ardyn heads into the hallways and scours every room he passes. He can hear his troops doing the same in neighbouring corridors with his superhuman hearing and on the radio the soldiers check in frequently;

“Block A clear.”

“Block F clear.”

Ardyn turns the volume down.

He can hear plenty in this labyrinth but the gunshots make some sounds harder to isolate.

Ardyn takes immense satisfaction in skewering another traitor.

In a back corridor he finds another chamber locked off.

A quick swipe of his key card finds the panel scrambled.

Ardyn digs his hand into the wall and rips out the locking mechanism making the automatic door spasm open.

Ardyn takes one step inside—

It’s a good thing he’s not human or that ruthlessly precise head shot would stop him dead in his tracks.

He reels back, grabbing the frame of the door, and blinks away a little blood as the wound heals. He leans into the room, scourge knitting his rattled skull back together, and he’s prepared to give someone a bad time for that little display but blinking into the room…

Verstael blinks back.

Verstael lowers the handgun.

“Oh thank god,” Ardyn wheezes, shoulders slumping.

Noctis is the first one to come barrelling out from behind the shelving before Verstael can stop him. He warps into Ardyn’s chest and its only practice that enables Ardyn to catch the little waif. Noctis wraps both little arms around his neck, buries his face, and evidently having been very tough all day commences balling his eyes out.

Ardyn ducks his head into the brat’s hair and holds on.

Prompto comes hobbling out next and he’s clearly been blubbering for a good hour already. He tugs on Ardyn’s pants and Ardyn shifts Noctis onto one hip so he can sweep Prompto up and hold him on the other. Two crying children in his arms? Check.

Ardyn lifts his head.

Verstael looks a little rattled, running a hand through his hair but when Ardyn smiles at him the blonde can’t fight the urge to close the gap. Ardyn bumps their foreheads together, taking a deep breath. Brilliant scientist life partner? Check.

They’re all okay.

“Thank fuck,” Verstael murmurs.

“You alright?” Ardyn whispers into the bridge of his nose.

“I was running out of bullets.” Verstael admits. “Got scary for a second there.”

“It’ll be okay,” Ardyn promises. “Help’s here.”

“You’re here,” Verstael snorts, specifying because clearly Ardyn’s the only help he’ll accept.

“Hmm,” Ardyn grins softly. “Grab my radio?”

Verstael plucks it out of his pocket and holds it up to his mouth while Ardyn holds the brats.

“Ulldor I’ve got Besithia,” he announces, “deploy A unit into Block C. I’m pulling back.”

“On it.” Ulldor grunts, knowing better than to argue.

Verstael tucks the radio in his lab coat pocket, shoulders slumped, looking much calmer.

“The rest…?” Verstael supposes.

“I’ll tell you all the juicy details later,” Ardyn promises, “this is the last bastion. We’re going to be executing traitors for weeks.”

“Good,” Verstael huffs.

“Come on,” Ardyn cocks his chin, “let’s get the three of you somewhere safer.”

* * *

Noctis, clever little boy he is, is not keen to let go for the next several hours. Luckily Ardyn’s quite adept at juggling squirmy little boys so its fine. Eventually, much later, the palace is locked down and secure again. The Emperor is having dinner as if nothing of any note happened today. Let him, Ardyn’s in no mood to socialize. He’s slumped on a sofa in his rooms with two boys snoring on him.

“They did good,” Verstael murmurs from Prompto’s other side, patting the child’s hair absently.

“I bet they did,” Ardyn grins with a quiet confidence.

“Should we put them to bed?” Verstael whispers, slumped into the couch.

“I’ll do it.” Arydn promises, shifting them so he can stand.

He puts them in his bed. He takes their little shoes off and just tucks them in. They never sleep well separated and tonight is absolutely not the night for it.

Returning to the lounge he collapses into the sofa and throws his arm around Verstael who presses up against him and curls his nails in like a limpet.

“I couldn’t find you,” Ardyn mutters, displeased.

“We need a contingency plan for that.” Verstael agrees, tucked under his chin as Ardyn squeezes him close.

“Tomorrow,” Ardyn nods. “Disgusting coward of a man, old Julius, waits till I’m out of the city to slaughter…” Ardyn doesn’t like saying it. It didn’t happen but he still doesn’t like acknowledging the thought by vocalizing it. 

Verstael’s fingers curl in his shirt.

“It was easier when I just had to worry about myself,” he laughs bitterly, “I’m not saying that—”

“I know,” Ardyn promises, “but they complicate things.”

“Yes…” Verstael whispers. “We need to be careful. It’s not like I can just grow two more little boys in a lab.”

“Well, technically….” Ardyn grins teasingly.

Verstael swats him but laughs all the same.

The Emperor, his limp children, and his sickly grand-children are one aspect of Imperial grandeur but Ardyn knows other men already recognize Iedolas for the puppet he is. They see Ardyn, they see Verstael, they see the power behind the throne, the hands that orchestrate everything, and then they see two very vulnerable little boys they can exploit or slaughter. They need to be savage in response, perhaps more so than ever before, and Ardyn’s head is already spinning with the specifics of how he secures his tiny dynasty. 

He’s going to have to start punishing his enemies more aggressively and with less preamble. He can’t afford to do any different.

Verstael will help, Verstael always does.

What would Ardyn do without him?


End file.
